Germany

Once upon a time there was a miller who was poor, but who had a beautiful
daughter. Now it happened that he got into a conversation with the king
and said to him: "I have a daughter who knows the art of turning straw
into gold."

So the king immediately sent for the miller's daughter and ordered her to
turn a whole room full of straw into gold in one night. And if she could
not do it, she would have to die. She was locked in the room, and she sat
there and cried, because for her life she did not know how the straw would
turn into gold.

Then suddenly a little man appeared before her, and said: "What will you
give me, if I turn this all into gold?" She took off her necklace and
gave it to the little man, and he did what he had promised.

The next morning the king found the room filled with gold, and his heart
became even more greedy. He put the miller's daughter into an even larger
room filled with straw, and told her to turn it into gold. The little man
came again. She gave him a ring from her hand, and he turned it all into
gold.

The third night the king had her locked in a third room, which was larger
than the first two, and entirely filled with straw. "If you succeed this
time, I'll make you my wife," he said.

Then the little man came and said, "I'll do it again, but you must promise
me the first child that you have with the king."

In her distress she made the promise, and when the king saw that this
straw too had been turned into gold, he took the miller's daughter as his
wife.

Soon thereafter the queen delivered a child. Then the little man appeared
before her and demanded the child that had been promised him. The queen
begged him to let her keep the child, offering him great riches in its
place.

Finally he said, "I'll be back to get the child in three days. But if by
then you know my name, you can keep the child.!"

For two days the queen pondered what the little man's name might be, but
she could not think of anything, and became very sad. On the third day
the king came home from a hunt and told her how, two days earlier, while
hunting deep in a dark forest, he had come upon a little house. A comical
little man was there, jumping about as if on one leg, and crying out:

Today I'll bake; tomorrow I'll brew.
Then I'll fetch the queen's new child.
It is good that no one knows
Rumpelstiltskin is my name.

The queen was overjoyed to hear this.

Then the dangerous little man arrived and asked: "Your majesty, what is my
name?"

"Is your name Conrad?"

"No."

"Is your name Heinrich?"

"No."

"Then could your name be Rumpelstiltskin?"

"The devil told you that!" shouted the little man. He ran away angrily,
and never came back.

The Grimms dressed this tale up considerably in succeeding editions.
The most notable change is the introduction of the spinning wheel as a
device for turning straw into gold. Further, in later editions the queen
discovers the dwarf's name through a messenger whom she herself sends
forth to collect strange names, not through her husband's chance meeting
with the little man.

Link to the German-language version of 1857
(the Grimms' last version): Rumpelstilzchen.

Germany

In a
city there was a wonderfully beautiful but poor girl. A merchant fell in
love with her and asked her to marry him. However, because merchants
expect a rich dowry, before the wedding she gave herself over to the
devil. Thus the devil brought her great wealth under the condition that
she would have to discover his name within one year, otherwise the devil
would take her.

The year's end was approaching, and she still did not
know the devil's name.

One night a shepherd was lying in his hut just
outside the city when he saw a fire not far away. Walking toward the fire,
he came to a hill. There he saw various beings dancing around. One of them
was particularly cheerful as he jumped around the fire, singing:

It is good; it is good, That Mistress Beautiful does not
know, That my name is Hipche, Hipche.

The next day the
shepherd want to the merchant's wife and told her what he had seen and
heard. She took note of the name, and when the year had come to an end,
the devil appeared before her, and she stated the name: Hipche.

Thus
the devil was defeated, and Mistress Beautiful lived happily and
prosperously with her merchant. With the money that she had received from
the devil, their trade expanded across the land and over the sea.

Germany

Once a prominent dwarf fell in love with a beautiful girl and wanted to
force her to marry him. To be sure, the girl had a great aversion toward
him because he was so small and not at all good looking, and she would not
agree to marry him. However, he won over her father by offering him much
money and land, so she finally had to accept his proposal. Nevertheless,
he agreed to release her from her promise and to leave her alone if she
could succeed in discovering his name. The girl searched a long time, but
to no avail. However, in the end fate came to her aid.

One night a fish dealer was traveling along the road to Greifswald.
Coming to a place where he saw a large number of dwarfs joyfully dancing
and jumping about in the moonlight, he stopped with amazement. Then he
suddenly heard one of the dwarfs call out with joy, "If my bride knew that
my name is Doubleturk, she wouldn't take me!"

The next day the fish dealer related this experience in a tavern in
Greifswald. The bride heard about it from the tavern keeper's daughter.
She immediately assumed that it had been her lover, and when he came to
her, she called him Doubleturk. Then the dwarf disappeared in great anger,
and that was the end of their courtship.

Germany

In a great forest there once lived a cowherd and a shepherd, and they
helped one another in times of need. The cowherd had a daughter and the
shepherd a son. From their childhood on they were inseparable, and the
older they became the fonder they grew of each other. Thus, when they came
of age the shepherd's son proposed to the shepherd's daughter, and she was
promised to him in marriage.

Some time later an ugly dwarf approached the cowherd and asked for the
daughter's hand in marriage. He brought many valuable presents for the
mother and the daughter. The daughter could not stand the dwarf, because
he was so ugly, and she did not want to marry a dwarf in any event. The
mother did not like him either, but that did not stop her from accepting
his presents.

One day he returned, again with many costly things, but this time the
mother said, "You are not going to get my daughter, no matter how many
presents you bring."

The daughter added, "I do not want your presents at all, and I want you
even less!"

Then the dwarf became very angry, threw the costly things on the floor,
and replied to the mother, "It's not that simple to get rid of me! Earlier
you accepted my presents, and I want to be paid for them. I will return
tomorrow at noon. If by then you know my name, then you may keep your
daughter, otherwise I will take her by force!"

With that the dwarf disappeared. Great concern now ruled the cowherd's
household.

Now the shepherd's son, while watching over his sheep in the forest,
had often seen the dwarf, but every time he had approached him, the dwarf
had disappeared. On this day he was watching over his sheep in the
vicinity of a cave, and this was the dwarf's cave. The shepherd stood
there, leaning on his staff, when suddenly the dwarf came by, as though he
were being driven through the forest by a windstorm, and he disappeared
into the cave. At the cave's entrance there was a yellow flower that the
shepherd's son had often admired because of its unusual color and shape.
Before entering the cave, the dwarf had touched the flower. A loud sound
came from within the cave. The shepherd's son listened, and he heard the
dwarf sing:

Here I sit,
Carving gold,
My name is
Holzrührlein Bonneführlein.
If the mother knew that,
She could keep her daughter.

The shepherd's son took note of the name, because it seemed so very
unusual to him. That evening when he visited his sweetheart, and noticed
her concern, he told her everything that had happened, and comforted her.
The mother repeated the name over and over again until it came easily to
her, and now they were no longer fearful about the dwarf's return.

The next day at noon he appeared as announced. He stepped up to the
mother and said sarcastically, "Now my dear lady, do you know my name?"

The mother pretended to be afraid and answered, "Oh, what could your
name be? Are you not called Mäuserich?"

The dwarf laughed and said, "Not even close!"

"Is your name perhaps Ruppsteert?"

"Wrong again!" laughed the dwarf.

"Oh, what are you called then? Your name wouldn't be Holzrührlein
Bonneführlein, now would it?"

The dwarf disappeared in an instant, and he was never heard from nor
seen again. The shepherd's son married the cowherd's daughter, and they
lived long and happy lives together.

Germany

Once upon a time there was a girl whose task it was to spin a certain
quantity of flax every day. However, she could never complete her work.
Then one day a man came to her who promised her that he would spin the
flax for her every day if she could guess his name. But the girl could not
guess his name. Then the man went away and turned himself into a bird.
Flying happily back and forth it cried out:

Germany

A long time ago near Sandbühl there lived an elf. He was scarcely
three spans tall. He often ran around dressed in only a shirt, which
angered the people, but otherwise he did not get in their way. On the
contrary did them many favors. He cut straw for them, tended their cows,
and helped them with work at home and in the field. He also provided the
sick with healing herbs and rescued many children from death.

One time a beautiful peasant girl was gored by a steer. She screamed
aloud and called for help. The friendly elf came immediately, comforted
her, and promised to help and rescue her, if she would marry him and go
with him to the elf kingdom. She had no choice but to say yes, and upon
her agreement the elf rescued her. Now she was supposed to go with the
dwarf into the mountain, but she did not at all want to. She therefore
asked the elf if he would not release her, promising him a beautiful red
jacket if he would do so.

The dwarf said, "I can easily get a red jacket. However, if you can
guess my name within three days, you shall be released from you
promise."

The girl was satisfied with this answer, and she went home.

She thought the entire night about the dwarf's name, but it did not
come to her. The next day the girl went out to the sand hill where the elf
stayed. She said all kinds of names, but none was the right one, and the
dwarf said, "Go home and think about it some more."

The girl returned home and thought day and night about what the little
man's name might be. The following day she went out to the sand hill
again, where she found the dwarf. Then she said many, many names, but none
was the right one.

The dwarf said, "Go home and think about it better, or tomorrow you
will be my wife."

So the girl, with her head hanging, returned home sad and dejected. She
had given up hope of guessing the dwarf's name.

But where the need is greatest, there help will come the soonest. A
peasant boy was working near the sand hill, and at noontime he lay down
behind the brush to rest. The elf came out of his hole in the ground, and
thinking that no one was there, he clapped his hands and danced around in
his little shirt while singing,

Praise and thanks to God,
That my bride does not know,
That I am called Kugerl.

The peasant boy was amused by the dwarf's antics, and that evening when
he went to the girl's house to visit, he laughingly told her what he had
seen and heard that day in the meadow near Sandbühl. The girl was now
happy beyond measure and no longer had any fears or concerns.

Early in the morning of the following day she went up to the sand hill.
She took a red jacket for the dwarf, for she wanted to give him something
for rescuing her. When the tiny little man saw her coming he was filled
with joy, and said, "Now tell me, what is my name?"

The girl said, "Putzli."

Then the dwarf laughed and asked her once again.

The girl said, "Nudi."

Then the elf laughed until he shook, and said, "Guess once again!"

Then the girl answered, "Would your name be Kugerl?" and gave him the
red jacket.

Then the dwarf began to cry and to moan, and carrying the jacket he
went out into the woods. Since that hour he has not been seen again, and
no one knows where he went.

Germany

They tell the story in Iserlohn that once a mine-dwarf (Bergmännchen)
helped a spinning girl do her work in the most
miraculous manner, in return for which he demanded the young girl's hand
in marriage. The girl agreed to this proposal, thinking
that he was not serious.

One evening she called out to her fiancé, who had just arrived,
"Look, is your name not Hoppetînken."

Turning red with anger, the dwarf said, "The devil told you that."

From that time onward he abandoned the spinning girl, and never again
helped her.

Germany

Once there was a woman who did not want to do any spinning. Her husband
often scolded her for not accomplishing anything.
Saddened by this, she was walking along thinking about her situation when
suddenly a dwarf appeared before her. He asked her
what was wrong with her and if he could not help her. She told him
everything, and the dwarf said that he would help her if she
would give him what she was carrying under her apron. However, if she
could guess his name then she would not need to give him anything.

The woman did not think about this very long before saying yes, for she
did not believe that she had anything under her apron.
From that time onward she always had yarn enough, and every Saturday when
her husband came to see what she had done,
there was always an abundance. She was happy and satisfied, but before
long all this changed, for she was about to deliver a
child, and she now realized what the dwarf had meant.

Filled with grief, she told her husband everything. One day when he was
walking over a mountain he heard the humming of a
spinning wheel from within the mountain, and a dwarf singing:

Dat is gaut dat de gnädige Frû nich weit
dat ik Zirkzirk heit.

It is good that the honorable lady does not know
that Zirkzirk is my name.

He joyfully returned home and reported this to his wife. After she
delivered her child the dwarf appeared to her, in order to
collect that which had been promised to him. She told him what his name
was, and he never again returned.

Austria

Ages ago, in olden times, there lived a powerful count. All the lands
far and wide belonged to him, and he had everything that his heart
desired. He shared his wealth and his happiness with a good wife, who was
as beautiful as the day and as dear as an angel. They had lived together
happily together for several months, and the days seemed to them to be as
short as minutes. One day the count was out hunting and went deeper and
deeper into the forest. In the heat of the hunt he went further than ever
before, and he became separated a good distance from the rest of his
party. As he stood there alone in the forest, a dwarf suddenly appeared
before him. The little forest dweller was only three feet tall, and his
full beard reached his knees. Angrily he rolled his fiery red eyes and
said, "What are you doing here? This is my realm, and you must pay a
penalty to me. If you do not give me your wife, you shall not leave this
forest alive."

The count was considerably frightened by the dwarf's appearance and his
angry words, for he had often heard all kinds of spooky stories about
strength and the wickedness of the little man of the forest. His old nurse
had told him these stories when he was but a child. What was he to do?
This was a critical situation. The frightened count did not know how to
escape other than to try to beg and talk his way out.

"Forgive me," said the count, "that I have trespassed upon your realm.
I did not know that it was yours, and I will certainly never do it again."

But the wild dwarf would not be pacified, and he said, "What I have
said to you must happen. Either you or she."

"Demand what else you will, and I shall give it to you," said the
count, "but do not insist upon this."

Then the little man appeared to reconsider, and he said, "If must be
so, then I will place your fate in your wife's hands. I will give you both
one month's time. If she is able, in three attempts, to guess my name then
she shall be yours and free -- otherwise she shall belong to me."

The count was somewhat comforted with this, but still his heart was
burdened. He made his way toward home, accompanied by the little man of
the forest. Both were serious, and neither spoke a word. After they had
gone some distance they came to an ancient gray-bearded fir tree. The
dwarf stopped here and said, "This is the boundary of my realm. I will
await your wife here at this fir tree, which is nine times older than the
other trees. Three times she may have three guesses! But if you do not
keep your word it will go badly for both of you."

The count now walked slowly homeward, for his heart was heavy, and the
closer he came to his castle, the gloomier and sadder he became. As he
approached the gate, the countess, who had seen him from her window, came
out to meet him. She was filled with joy and happiness, for her husband
was home again. But she soon noticed that he was not happy, as he usually
was, but instead looked like seven days of rainy weather. This made her
sad and concerned, and she asked the count what was wrong with him.

As soon as they entered the castle and were in the sitting room, the
tired and sad count told her how he had met the dwarf and how he had
wanted take the countess, and what conditions he had at last agreed to.

When the countess heard this, she became as pale as a corpse, and her
beautiful, fine cheeks were wet with tears. Happiness and joy had now
disappeared from the castle, and everyone there became silent and sad. The
countess most often sat in an alcove thinking and thinking how short her
happiness had been, or she went to the castle chapel where she prayed and
cried.

The count no longer went out hunting nor to the jousting matches but
sat instead on his old chair, richly decorated with carvings, on which his
ancestors had also sat. Supporting his head with his right hand, he
contemplated, but he himself did not know about what.

Thus passed day after day and week after week, until finally there were
three days left in the month. The count and countess went out into the
forest, then further and further until they could see the old gray-bearded
fir tree in the distance. The count stayed behind, and the countess
proceeded alone. Otherwise it was beautiful in the forest. The birds were
singing; the squirrels were jumping about or sitting there splitting pine
cones; and the wild roses were blossoming so beautifully white and red.
But the countess had a heavy heart as never before, and she sadly walked
on until she came to the fir tree.

The dwarf, beautifully dressed in green and red, was waiting for her. A
mischievous pleasure overcame him when he saw the countess, for she
pleased him greatly.

"Now guess my name, Lady Countess!" he said quickly, as though he
hardly expected her to do so.

Then the countess guessed, "Fir, Spruce, Pine," because she thought
that for living in the forest he would certainly have the name of a tree.

The dwarf had hardly heard this when he broke out laughing and
rejoicing until the entire forest resounded. "You have not guessed it!" he
said gleefully. "See if you can do any better tomorrow than you did today.
Otherwise you will become my wife!"

The countess, sadder still, walked away from the fir tree with downcast
eyes. The dwarf stood there and smiled at her, taking pleasure in her
grief. She soon found her husband, and told him how she had guessed so
badly. They returned to their castle even sadder than they had left.

The rest of the day passed too fast, although it was a sad one. Evening
was soon there, and night followed quickly. It was a sad and hopeless
night, and neither sleep nor dreams entered the count's room.

When the first larks began to sing the next morning, the count and
countess were already up and concerned about their plight. They went to
the castle chapel to pray, and afterward went out into the dark green
forest, then further and deeper until they saw the old gray-bearded fir
tree in the distance. The count stayed behind and the countess proceeded
alone. Otherwise it was beautiful out there in the forest. The birds were
singing; the flowers were laughing and giving off their sweet scent; the
squirrels were standing up like little men. But the countess had a heavy
heart as never before, and with tears in her eyes she walked on until she
came to the fir tree. She had scarcely arrived there when the little man
of the forest walked up, dressed beautifully in blue and red. A
mischievous pleasure overcame him when he saw the countess, for she
pleased him greatly.

"Now guess my name, Lady Countess!" he said quickly, and smiled.

Then the countess guessed, "Oat, Buckwheat, Maize," for she thought
that he might have the name of a grain.

The little elf had hardly heard this when he broke out laughing and
rejoicing until the entire forest resounded. "You have not guessed it!" he
said gleefully. "You must do better tomorrow, or you will belong to me,
and tomorrow will be my wedding."

The countess, sadder than ever before, walked away from the fir tree
with wet eyes. The dwarf stood there impishly smiling at her. She soon
found her husband, and told him how badly she had done. They returned to
their castle even more gloomily than they had left.

The rest of the day passed under a shadow of sorrow. Evening was there
before they realized it, and the dark night followed quickly. It was again
a sad night, in which neither the count nor the countess closed their
eyes.

As morning dawned, the count and countess were already up. They went to
the castle chapel and prayed fervently. Then they went out into the
beautiful green forest. It was still early, early in the morning, and many
of the birds were still lying asleep in their nests. Only the brooks were
rustling and murmuring, and the morning breezes were whispering through
the tree branches. Otherwise it was quiet -- as quiet as in a church.

The count and countess walked until they saw the old gray-bearded fir
tree in the distance. There the count kissed his beautiful countess, and a
tear dropped onto his beard, for he did not know if he would ever see her
again. The countess, however was more composed today, and her heart was
not beating as quickly as it had done on the earlier occasions. She said
good-bye to her husband and walked toward the fir tree. All soul alone,
she stood there next to the old tree, but the dwarf was nowhere to be
seen. On either side there were wild rosebushes, and they made a beautiful
fence.

She walked along the path and soon came to a beautiful little valley.
The most beautiful flowers were there, with vineyards and fig trees
growing on the hillsides. In the middle of the field stood a neat little
cottage. Its little windows glistened happily in the morning sunshine.
Blue smoke curled upward from the little chimney, and a song sounded from
within.

The countess forgot her pain and grief when she saw the little valley
and the cottage. She crept up and, on tip-toes, looked inside the window
to see if it was as beautiful inside as it was outside. She saw a lovely
little kitchen, with things cooking and frying in pots and pans. The
little man of the forest was standing at the hearth, first tending to one
thing and then to another, at the same time singing with a smiling mouth:

Boil my oats, bubble my cabbage;
It is good that Lady Countess does not know
That Purzinigele is my name.

The countess had heard enough. She crept away and hurried back to the
fir tree, so that the dwarf would not overtake her. Joyfully standing
there, she could almost not wait for the dwarf to arrive. It was not long
before the little man arrived. Today he was dressed even more beautifully
than before. His clothing was embroidered with red and gold, and it
glistened like a sunrise.

"Guess now for the last time," said the little elf to the countess, as
though he had wanted to say, "This bird will not escape from my trap."

The countess started to say "Pur," while carefully observing her
questioner.

"Not right! You have two guesses left!" said the little man.

"Goat," replied the countess.

With that the dwarf blushed a little and seemed to pause and think.
Then he said, "Guess quickly! You have one more chance."

"Purzinigele!" cried out the countess, filled with joy. Upon hearing
his name, the dwarf angrily rolled his fiery red eyes, clenched his fists
tightly, then grumbling disappeared into the thicket. The freed countess
hurried back to the place where the count was impatiently waiting for her.
There was such joy when the two found one another again.

To the joy of their people, the count and countess returned to their
castle. They lived there many, many years as the happiest couple that
anyone ever knew.

Concerning the countess's second guess on her last day: The word for
goat in German is "Ziege," which approximates the second part of
Purzinigele's name. This explains why he blushes and pauses to think after
hearing the countess's first two guesses on the last day.

Italy

Once upon a time there was a mother who had but one daughter. She was
not an ugly girl, but she had the flaw that she was always too smart for
her own good and that she would rather eat and be lazy than work. Such
daughters bring little joy to their mothers, and so it was here as well.
The daughter could do nothing right for her mother, who for an entire year
never stopped scolding her.

Once the mother left early for the field, telling the daughter, who was
still in bed, "Near noontime cook some soup and put a couple of kernels of
rice in it so there will be something for me to eat when I get home. Now
"a couple" was a common way of saying "not too much and not too little,"
but the girl did not understand that. She put a kettle of water on the
fire, picked out two kernels of rice and threw them in. What a soup that
was when the mother arrived home! She scolded, but to no avail. She had to
pour out the water and make her own soup, if she wanted anything to
eat.

Another time the mother went away again, and said, "Boil some meat for
our noon meal."

"How much should I use?" asked the girl.

"Whatever is honest!" replied the mother, and left.

"Just what is honest?" thought the girl over and over. Then it occurred
to her that their donkey, standing in the stall, was named Honest. "Yes,
indeed, mother meant him," she cried. "To be sure, he is old and is no
longer worth much. I'll not get a scolding this time."

So she went to the stall, struck the poor donkey dead, and chopped him
up in pieces. Then she put a large washtub on the fire, threw the pieces
into the water, and let it boil until it was hissing and bubbling. When
the mother arrived home and saw what had happened she was beside herself
and began to hit at her daughter with both fists. But that did not bring
the poor donkey back to life. And his meat was so tough that it could not
be eaten. So she threw it out to the dogs, and they were only able to eat
it only because they were bitterly hungry and had sharp teeth.

Later the mother went away again and told the daughter, "For our noon
meal cook some mush, but do it right."

The daughter cooked a lot of mush, and she herself ate seven dishes
full. The eighth dish, the smallest one, she saved for her mother. When
she came home and learned that the girl had already eaten seven dishes of
mush, she became angry and began to scold loudly and intensely.

At that same moment a distinguished gentleman passed by the house,
heard the scolding, and entered. "Why are you scolding this poor girl so?"
he asked.

The mother was ashamed and quickly replied, "I am scolding her because
she works too much. Today she has spun seven spindles full, and I do not
want her to overtire herself."

"Can she really spin so well?" asked the gentleman.

"There is no one far and wide in the entire country who can spin as
well as my daughter," answered the mother.

Then the gentleman said, "If that is so, then you can give her to me
for my wife. I want to have a wife who works well, and I shall never find
one who is better or more industrious."

Mother and daughter agreed happily. The wedding took place, and the
gentleman took his young wife home with him.

A few days later he had a large pile of flax brought in and said,
"Listen, wife, I will be out hunting the entire day. By tomorrow evening
you are to have spun this flax."

She made a sour face and said, "Husband, my lord, that is not
possible."

Then he became angry and repeated to her, "Do you think that I took you
for a wife so you would not have to work? If you want to be lazy then you
can go back to your own house." With that he went forth to hunt.

The wife was beside herself. The pile of flax was so large that even
with a hundred maids she would not have been able to spin it in two days.
While she was standing there in desperation, a dwarf crept up to her. He
was dressed in red and wore a little crown on his head. He said, "Why are
you so sad? What will you give me if I spin the flax?"

The wife did not answer, and the red dwarf continued, "I will spin the
flax, but only under the condition that you guess my name within three
tries. If you fail to do so, you will be mine and must come with me."

In her desperation the wife said yes, and immediately there appeared
countless little dwarfs, and they carried all the flax away until not a
single strand was left behind.

That evening the gentleman returned home from hunting. Seeing his wife
quiet and still, he thought that she must be tired from spinning. Before
they went to bed he told her, "Just think about what happened to me today.
When I was up on the mountain and it was just getting dark, I came to a
split in the earth. I looked down and saw beneath me a large room where
many hundreds of little devils were hurriedly spinning flax. It was a joy
to watch them. In the middle there stood a throne, and on it sat a dwarf
dressed in red and wearing a little crown on his head. He was continuously
clicking his tongue and crying out:

What will she do, what will she say,
When tomorrow we take it to her?
Then she will guess so and so.
But my name is Tarandandò.

Then the wife became happy once again, and said, "Dear husband, my
lord, what did the crazy dwarf say?" And when he repeated it, she secretly
wrote down the name and went to bed feeling relieved.

The next morning the gentleman went hunting again. Then the red dwarf
arrived with hundreds of little devils, who were carrying the flax, all
finely and neatly spun, and not even a hair of it was missing. Then the
red dwarf approached the wife and said with a scornful smile, "Here is the
flax. Now guess what my name is."

Pretending to be at a loss for words, the wife said, "Is your name
perhaps Peter?"

"No," cried the dwarf, laughing.

With an even sadder face she asked, "Is you name perhaps Toni?"

"No," repeated the dwarf and laughed even more scornfully.

Then she pretended to be thinking deeply and to have fallen into
despair. But finally she said, "Is your name perhaps --
Tarandandò?"

"Curses!" cried the red dwarf, as though he had been stung by a viper.
He slapped her hard on the cheek, and then he and his little devils
departed into the air with such a sound of whistling and rushing that it
was like a windstorm in the fall swirling the dry leaves about and blowing
them through the woods.

When the gentleman arrived home that evening, his wife showed him the
spun flax, and he was uncommonly satisfied. "But why is your cheek so
swollen?" he asked.

"Oh, dear husband, my lord," she said, "that comes from spinning."

Soon afterward he had an even larger pile of flax brought in and
ordered his wife to spin it within a few days. She was beside herself, but
then it occurred to her that she had an aunt who was an uncommonly sly and
clever woman who had helped many a relative out of difficulty. She went to
her and told her of her troubles.

"Just let me deal with it," said the aunt. "Go home, and this evening
when your husband is at home I shall come and pay you a visit. Then you'll
see."

When it was evening she took a dead hen, filled it with blood and
grease, put it under her arm between her skin and her undershirt, and went
to her niece. She entered the room where the husband and wife were, and
the latter approached her, saying, "Greetings, dear aunt. It is so good
that you can visit us."

"Yes, yes, I have been looking forward to this for a long time," said
the aunt, and pressed her arm against her body until the blood and grease
ran out onto the floor, while she stood there all bent over.

"Oh, good woman, what are you doing there?" said the gentleman.

The sly woman looked casually at the blood drops on the floor, then
complained loudly, "Oh, my ailment! My old ailment! I have a large boil
under my arm. That's where the blood is coming from."

"How did you get such an ailment?" asked the gentleman with
sympathy.

"Do you know, my lord," she replied, "when I was young and beautiful I
always had to spin, and that is what brought on my ailment. How it grieved
my dear departed husband. I believe it was the cause of his early
death."

When the gentleman heard this he turned to his wife and said, "Listen,
wife, you shall never touch another spindle. I can no longer stand
spinning!"

That was fine with her. From that time forth she had the best and the
most comfortable life, and if she hasn't died, she is still living lazily
forth.

German Hungary

A poor woodcutter once lived on the edge of a great forest with his
wife and his small daughter. He often did not know how he might still
their hunger, and so he decided to lead his daughter into the forest and
abandon her there.

When he once again had nothing for himself or for his family to eat,
and he could find no work, he took his child with him into the woods and
left her in a beautiful forest meadow with the promise to return soon. To
deceive the child he tied a piece of wood to a tree with a string in such
a way that the wind swung it back and forth. Hitting against the tree, it
made a sound like someone chopping wood with an axe.

The child was thus deceived. She looked for strawberries, played with
flowers, and after a while fell asleep -- tired from all the running
about. When she awoke the moon was already high in the sky, and her father
had not yet come.

The child began to cry fervently, then ran deeper into the forest
looking for her father.

Suddenly she saw a little fire with a number of little pot-shaped
containers standing nearby. Curiously, she ran up to them, laid some dry
twigs on the fire, which was about to go out, and blew with all her
strength in order to make it burn. Turning around, she saw a little man
who was smiling at her good naturedly. He was entirely gray, and his white
beard, which stuck out from his gray jacket in a strange manner, reached
down over his chest.

The little girl was afraid and was about to run away, but the dwarf
called her back. The child reluctantly obeyed. The old man stroked her
cheeks and spoke in such a friendly manner that she lost all fear, and
helped him with his cooking.

The gray man asked her her name and who her father was. With tears in
her eyes she told him, and he comforted her and told her she should stay
with him and become his daughter. The child accepted, and the old man led
her into his home. It was in a large hollow tree. A pile of leaves served
as his bed.

The little man prepared a second bed so that the tired child could lie
down and rest.

The next morning the dwarf wakened the girl and said that he had to go
away. She was to take care of the house -- as he called the tree -- while
he was away. He returned soon and showed her everything, teaching her to
cook and to do the other household chores. Thus the day passed quickly,
and night was there before she knew it.

They lived several years happily and contentedly, and the girl had
grown up so much that was now nearly a head taller than her foster father.
Then one evening he told her that it was now time for him to make
preparations for her future. "The queen," he said, "who lives in the area
needs a faithful servant. I was there and recommended you to her, and she
is inclined to take you on." He added that if she would behave properly it
would go well with her the rest of her life.

The next morning they went together to the castle. The maiden was
introduced to the queen, and accepted by her. She cordially took leave of
her foster father, and he promised to visit her every Sunday.

She had not worked there long before the young king, who had been
waging war against another king, returned home victoriously. The young
king was attracted to the girl and wanted to marry her. His mother, who
also liked the maiden, gave her approval.

When the Gray Man -- as they called him at the castle -- came again to
visit his daughter, the queen told him that her son would like to marry
his daughter, that she had given her approval, and that it thus now up to
him to express his wishes.

The old man said sourly, "The king can marry my little daughter if and
only if he can guess my name." With that he left the castle and returned
to the woods. As usual, he made a fire and began to cook. While he was
cooking he hopped around the fire singing:

Boil, pot, boil,
So the king will not know
That my name is Winterkölbl.

The king was very concerned, and he sent out a servant to discover the old
man's name. The servant overheard the old man and rushed back to the
castle. He told the name and was rewarded with many gold pieces.

When the dwarf returned the king greeted him with the words "Welcome,
Father Winterkölbl!"

The old man saw that he had been outsmarted and gave his consent. The
wedding was festively celebrated, and even Winterkölbl was there. But
he could not be talked into moving into the castle, and he continued to
live, as before, in his tree.

Lower Austria

There was once a king who wanted to marry, but he had decided to take
no woman for a wife who did not have pitch-black hair and eyes of the same
color. It made no difference to him whether she was of high or low birth.
Thus he had proclaimed throughout the entire country that all girls with
these qualities should report to him.

Many presented themselves, but in some instances the blackness did not
reach the degree desired by the king, in other instances the hair was
wrong, and -- in short -- there was a problem with each and every one.

A charcoal burner was walking along the path with his daughter. Seeing
the crowd of people before the king's castle, she asked her father what it
meant. He told her how the king wanted to marry someone with black hair
and black eyes, but that he could not find anyone who had them to his
satisfaction.

The charcoal burner's daughter had both. Therefore she said to her
father, "May I go there?"

He replied, "Are you so stupid that you think the king would take you
for his wife?"

She told him that she would like to go and just look around the palace
a little. He gave his permission, and she walked toward the palace.

On the way she met a little man, who called out to her, "Hey, girl,
what will you give me if you become queen?"

She answered, "Hey, little man, what can I give you? I have nothing."

The little man continued, "You will become queen, but in three years
you must still remember that my name is Kruzimugeli. If you don't know
that, then you'll be mine."

"If that's all you want from me, I'll remember it," replied the
charcoal burner's daughter, and ran to the castle. She took no more heed
of the little man who stared after her, rubbing his hands together with
satisfaction.

As soon as the king saw the charcoal burner's daughter he decided to
marry her, for her hair glistened and her eyes sparked with blackness. So
she married the king and lived happily together with him. In her happiness
she almost failed to notice that the three years were coming to an end,
and -- oh fright! -- she had forgotten the little man's name.

Now she was always sad and spent every day crying. The king, who loved
her dearly, attempted to cheer her up with festivities, but all to no
avail. Whenever he asked her why she was so sad, she always answered that
she could not tell him.

One day the royal forester was out in the woods in search of game for
the king's table. Going deeper into the woods, he saw a little man who had
made a fire and was jumping over it with spiteful joy, singing the whole
time:

How good it is
That the young queen doesn't know
That my name is Kruzimugeli.

The hunter listened to this and then went back home. He met the queen in
the palace garden, where -- filled with sorrow -- she was taking a walk.
He told her immediately about the event in the woods, and as soon as she
heard the name Kruzimugeli she was almost beside herself with joy. The
next day was the last day of the third year, and the little man would be
coming to ask the queen for his name.

The little man did indeed come the next day, and he asked the queen,
"Now, Your Highness, do you still know my name? You may guess three times,
and if you are not right, then you belong to me."

The queen answered, "I think your name is Steffel."

Hearing this, the little man jumped into the air with joy, and shouted
with all his might, "Not right!"

The queen then said, "Then your name must be Veitl."

The little man made another leap, and called out once more, "Not
right!"

Now the queen said very quietly, "Then your name must be Kruzimugeli."

Hearing this, and without answering, the little man jumped with a roar
through the wall to the outside.

All attempts to repair the hole that he made in the wall remained
fruitless.

But the queen and her husband lived happily and contentedly for a long
time.

Sweden (Upland)

There was once an old woman who had an only daughter. The lass was good
and amiable, and also extremely beautiful, but at the same time so
indolent that she would hardly turn her hand to any work. This was a cause
of great grief to the mother, who tried all sorts of ways to cure her
daughter of so lamentable a failing. But there was no help. The old woman
then thought no better plan could be devised than to set her daughter to
spin on the roof of their cottage, in order that all the world might be
witness of her sloth. But her plan brought her no nearer the mark. The
girl continued as useless as before.

One day, as the king's son was going to the chase, he rode by the
cottage where the old woman dwelt with her daughter. On seeing the fair
spinner on the roof, he stopped and inquired why she sat spinning in such
an unusual place.

The old woman answered, "Aye, she sits there to let all the world see
how clever she is. She is so clever that she can spin gold out of clay and
long straw."

At these words the prince was struck with wonder, for it never occurred
to him that the old woman was ironically alluding to her daughter's sloth.
He therefore said, "If what you say is true, that the young maiden can
spin gold from clay and long straw, she shall no longer sit there, but
shall accompany me to my palace and be my consort."

The daughter thereupon descended from the roof and accompanied the
prince to the royal residence, where, seated in her maiden-bower, she
received a pail full of clay and a bundle of straw, by way of trial,
whether she were so skillful as her mother had said.

The poor girl now found herself in a very uncomfortable state, knowing
but too well that she could not spin flax, much less gold. So, sitting in
her chamber, with her head resting on her hand, she wept bitterly. While
she was thus sitting, the door was opened, and in walked a very little old
man, who was both ugly and deformed. The old man greeted her in a friendly
tone, and asked why she sat so lonely and afflicted.

"I may well be sorrowful," answered the girl. "The king's son has
commanded me to spin gold from clay and long straw, and if it be not done
before tomorrow's dawn, my life is at stake."

The old man then said, "Fair maiden, weep not, I will help you. Here is
a pair of gloves. When you have then on you will be able to spin gold.
Tomorrow night I will return, when, if you have not found out my name, you
shall accompany me home and be my wife."

In her despair she agreed to the old man's condition, who then went his
way. The maiden now sat and span, and by dawn she had already spun up all
the clay and straw, which had become the finest gold it was possible to
see.

Great was the joy throughout the whole palace, that the king's son had
got a bride who was so skillful and, at the same time, so fair. But the
young maiden did nothing but weep, and the more the time advanced the more
she wept, for she thought of the frightful dwarf who was to come and fetch
her. When evening drew nigh, the king's son returned from the chase, and
went to converse with his bride. Observing that she appeared sorrowful, he
strove to divert her in all sorts of ways, and said he would tell her of a
curious adventure, provided only she would be cheerful. The girl entreated
him to let her hear it.

Then said the prince, "While rambling about in the forest today I
witness an odd sort of thing. I saw a very, very little old man dancing
round a juniper bush and singing a singular song."

"What did he sing?" asked the maiden inquisitively, for she felt sure
that the prince had met with the dwarf.

Today I the malt shall grind,
Tomorrow my wedding shall be.
And the maiden sits in her bower and weeps;
She knows not what I am called.
I am called Titteli Ture.
I am called Titteli Ture.

Was not the maiden now glad? She begged the prince to tell her over and
over again what the dwarf had sung. He then repeated the wonderful song,
until she had imprinted the old man's name firmly in her memory. She then
conversed lovingly with her betrothed, and the prince could not
sufficiently praise his young bride's beauty and understanding. But he
wondered why she was so overjoyed, being like everyone else, ignorant of
the cause of her past sorrow.

When it was night, and the maiden was sitting alone in her chamber, the
door was opened, and the hideous dwarf again entered. On beholding him the
girl sprang up, and said, "Titteli Ture! Titteli Ture! Here are your
gloves."

When the dwarf heard his name pronounced, he was furiously angry, and
hastened away through the air, taking with him the whole roof of the
house.

The fair maiden now laughed to herself and was joyful beyond measure.
She then lay down to sleep, and slept till the sun shone. The following
day her marriage with the young prince was solemnized, and nothing more
was ever heard of Titteli Ture.

Source:Benjamin Thorpe, Yule-Tide Stories: A Collection of
Scandinavian and North German Popular Tales and Traditions, from the
Swedish, Danish, and German (London: Henry G. Bohn, 1853), pp.
168-170.

England

Once upon a time there was a woman, and she baked five pies. And when
they came out of the oven, they were that overbaked the crusts were too
hard to eat.

So she says to her daughter: "Darter," says she, "put you them there pies
on the shelf, and leave 'em there a little, and they'll come again." --
She meant, you know, the crust would get soft.

But the girl, she says to herself: "Well, if they'll come again, I'll eat
'em now." And she set to work and ate 'em all, first and last.

Well, come supper-time the woman said: "Go you, and get one o' them there
pies. I dare say they've come again now."

The girl went and she looked, and there was nothing but the dishes. so
back she came, and says she: "Noo, they ain't come again."

"Not one of 'em?" says the mother.

"Not one of 'em," says she.

"Well, come again, or not come again," said the woman, "I'll have one for
supper."

"But you can't, if they ain't come," said the girl.

"But I can," says she. "Go you, and bring the best of 'em."

Best or worst," says the girl, "I've ate 'em all, and you can't have one
till that's come again."

Well, the woman she was done, and she took her spinning to the door to
spin, and as she span she sang:

My darter ha' ate five, five pies today.

My darter ha' ate five, five pies today.

The king was coming down the street, and he heard her sing, but what she
sang he couldn't hear, so he stopped and said: "What was that you were
singing, my good woman?"

The woman was ashamed to let him hear what her daughter had been doing, so
she sang, instead of that:

My darter ha' spun five, five skeins today.

My darter ha' spun five, five skeins today.

"Stars o' mine!" said the king, "I never heard tell of anyone that could
do that."

Then he said: "Look you here, I want a wife, and I'll marry your daughter.
But look you here," says he, "eleven months out of the year she shall have
all she likes to eat, and all the gowns she likes to get, and all the
company she likes to keep; but the last month of the year she'll have to
spin five skeins every day, and if she don't, I shall kill her."

"All right," says the woman; for she thought what a grand marriage that
was. And as for the five skeins, when the time came, there'd be plenty of
ways of getting out of it, and likeliest, he'd have forgotten all about
it.

Well, so they were married. And for eleven months the girl had all she
liked to eat, and all the gowns she liked to get, and all the company she
liked to keep.

But when the time was getting over, she began to think about the skeins
and to wonder if he had 'em in mind. But not one word did he say about
'em, and she thought he'd wholly forgotten 'em.

However, the last day of the last month he takes her to a room she'd never
set eyes on before. There was nothing in it but a spinning wheel and a
stool And says he: "Now, my dear, here you'll be shut in tomorrow with
some victuals and some flax, and if you haven't spun five skeins by the
night, your head'll go off."

And away he went about his business.

Well, she was that frightened, she'd always been such a gatless
[careless] girl, that she didn't so much as
know how to spin, and what was she to do tomorrow with no one to come nigh
her to help her? She sat down on a stool in the kitchen, and law! how she
did cry!

However, all of a sudden she heard a sort of a knocking low down on the
door. She upped and oped it, and what should she see but a small little
black thing with a long tail.

That looked up at her right curious, and that said: "What are you a-crying
for?"

"What's that to you?:" says she.

"Never you mind," that said, "but tell me what you're a-crying for."

"That won't do me no good if I do," says she.

"You don't know that," that said, and twirled that's tail round.

"well," says she, "that won't do no harm, if that don't do no good," and
she upped and told about the pies, and the skeins, and everything.

"This is what I'll do," says the little black thing, "I'll come to your
window every morning and take the flax and bring it spun at night."

"What's your pay?" says she.

That looked out the corner of that's eyes, and that said: "I'll give you
three guesses every night to guess my name, and if you haven't guessed it
before the month's up, you shall be mine.

Well, she thought she'd be sure to guess that's name before the month was
up. "All right," says she, "I agree."

"All right," that says, and law! how that twirled that's tail.

Well, the next day, her husband took her into the room, and there was the
flax and the day's food.

"Now there's the flax," says he, and if that ain't spun up this night, off
goes your head." And then he went out and locked the door.

He'd hardly gone, when there was a knocking against the window.

She upped and she oped it, and there sure enough was the little old thing
sitting on the ledge.

"Where's the flax?" says he.

"Here it be," says she. And she gave it to him.

Well, come the evening a knocking came again to the window. She upped and
she oped it, and there was the little old thing with five skeins of flax
on his arm.

"Here it be," says he, and he have it to her.

"Now, what's my name" says he.

What, is that Bill?" says she.

"Noo, that ain't," says he, and he twirled his tail.

"Is that Ned?" says she.

"Noo, that ain't," says he, and he twirled his tail.

"Well, is that Mark?" says she.

"Noo, that ain't," says he, and he twirled his tail harder, and away he
flew.

Well, when her husband came in, there were the five skeins ready for him.
"I see I shan't have to kill you tonight, my dear," says her; "you'll have
your food and your flax in the morning," says he, and away he goes.

Well every day the flax and the food were brought, and every day that
there little black impet used to come mornings and evenings. And all the
day the girl sate trying to think of names to say to it what it came at
night. But she never hit on the right one. And as it got towards the end
of the month, the impet began to look so maliceful, and that twirled
that's tail faster and faster each time she gave a guess.

At last it came to the last day but one. The impet came at night along
with the five skeins, and that said:

"What, ain't you got my name yet?"

"Is that Nicodemus?" says she.

"Noo, 'tain't," that says.

"Is that Sammle?" says she.

"Noo, 'tain't," that says.

"A-well, is that Methusalem?" says she.

"Noo, 'tain't that neither," that says.

Then that looks at her with that's eyes like a coal o' fire, and that
says: "Woman, there's only tomorrow night, and then you'll be mine?" And
away it flew.

Well, she felt that horrid. However, she heard the king coming along the
passage.

In he came, and when he sees the five skeins, he says, says he: "Well, my
dear," says he. "I don't see but what you'll have your skeins ready
tomorrow night as well, and as I reckon I shan't have to kill you, I'll
have supper in here tonight." So they brought supper, and another stool
for him, and down the two sate.

Well, he hadn't eaten but a mouthful or so, when he stops and begins to
laugh.

"What is it?" says she.

"A-why," says he, I was out a-hunting today, and I got away to a place in
the wood I'd never seen before. And there was an old chalk pit. And I
heard a kind of a sort of a humming. So I got off my hobby, and I went
right quiet to the pit, and I looked down. Well, what should there be but
the funniest little black thing you ever set eyes on. And what was that
doing but that had a little spinning wheel, and that was spinning
wonderful fast, and twirling that's tail. And as that span that sang:

Nimmy nimmy not
My name's Tom Tit Tot.

Well, when the girl heard this, she felt as if she could have jumped out
her skin for joy, but she didn't say a word.

Next day that there little thing looked so maliceful when he came for the
flax. And when night came, she heard that knocking against the window
panes. She oped the window, and that come right in on the ledge. That
was grinning from ear to ear, and Oo! that's tail was twirling round so
fast.

"What's my name?" that says, as that gave her the skeins.

"Is that Solomon?" she says, pretending to be afeard.

"Noo, 'tain't," that says, and that come further into the room.

"Well, is that Zebedee?" says she again.

"Noo, 'tain't," says the impet. And then that laughed and twirled that's
tail till you couldn't hardly see it.

"Take time, woman," that says; "next guess, and you're mine." And that
stretched out that's black hands at her.

Well, she backed a step or two, and she looked at it, and then she laughed
out, and says she, pointing her finger at it:

Nimmy nimmy not
Your name's Tom Tit Tot.

Well, when that heard her, that gave an awful shriek and away that flew
into the dark, and she never saw it any more.

Contributed by Mrs. Walter-Thomas (née Fison) to the "Suffolk
Notes and Queries" of the Ipswich Journal, 1877, and reprinted by
Mr. E. Clodd in a paper on "The Philosophy of Rumpelstiltskin" in
Folk-Lore Journal, vii [1889], 138-43. I have reduced the Suffolk
dialect.... One of the best folk-tales that have ever been collected,
far superior to any of the continental variants of this tale with which I
am acquainted. Mr. Clodd sees in the class of name-guessing stories, a
"survival" of the superstition that to know a man's name gives you power
over him, for which reason savages object to tell their names.

England (Cornwall)

Many of the superstitions of our ancestors are preserved in quaint,
irregular rhymes, the recitation of which was the amusement of the people
in the long nights of winter. These were sung, or rather said, in a
monotone, by the professional drolls, who doubtless added such things as
they fancied would increase the interest of the story to the listeners.
Especially were they fond of introducing known characters on the scene,
and of mixing up events which had occurred within the memory of the old
people, with the more ancient legend.

The following story, or rather parts of it, formed the subject of one
of the Cornish Christmas plays. When I was a boy, I well remember being
much delighted with the coarse acting of a set of Christmas players, who
exhibited in the "great hall" of a farmhouse at which I was visiting, and
who gave us the principal incidents of Duffy and the Devil Terrytop; one
of the company doing the part of Chorus, and filling up by rude
descriptions -- often in rhyme -- the parts which the players could not
represent.

It was cider-making time. Squire Lovel of Trove, or more correctly,
Trewoof, rode up to Burian Churchtown to procure help. Boys and maidens
were in request, some to gather the apples from the trees, others to carry
them to the cider mill. Passing along the village as hastily as the
dignity of a squire would allow him, his attention was drawn to a great
noise -- scolding in a shrill treble voice, and crying -- proceeding from
Janey Chygwin's door. The squire rode up to the cottage, and he saw the
old woman beating her stepdaughter Duffy about the head with the skirt of
her swing-tail gown, in which she had been carrying out the ashes. She
made such a dust, that the squire was nearly choked and almost blinded
with the wood ashes.

"What cheer, Janey?" cries the squire. "What's the to-do with you and
Duffy?"

"Oh, the lazy hussy!" shouts Janey, "is all her time courseying and
courranting [running and chasing] with the boys! She will never stay in to
boil the porridge, knit the stockings, or spin the yarn."

"Don't believe her, your honor," exclaims Duffy. "My knitting and
spinning is the best in the parish."

The war of tongues continued in this strain for some time, the old
squire looking calmly on, and resolving in his mind to take Duffy home
with him to Trove, her appearance evidently pleasing him greatly. Squire
Lovel left the old and young woman to do the best they could, and went
round the village to complete his hiring.

When he returned, peace had been declared between them, but when Lovel
expressed his desire to take Duffy home to his house to help the
housekeeper to do the spinning, "A pretty spinner she is!" shouted old
Janey at the top of her voice.

"Try me, your honor," said Duffy, curtsying very low. "My yarns are the
best in the parish."

"We'll soon try that," said the squire. "Janey will be glad to get
quits of thee, I see, and thou'lt be nothing loath to leave her. So jump
up behind me, Duffy."

No sooner said than done. The maid Duffy, without ceremony, mounted
behind the squire on the horse, and they jogged silently down to Trove.

Squire Lovel's old housekeeper was almost blind -- one eye had been put
out by an angry old wizard, and through sympathy she was rapidly losing
the power of seeing with the other. This old dame was consequently very
glad of someone to help her in spinning and knitting.

The introduction over, the housekeeper takes Duffy up into the garret
where the wool was kept, and where the spinning was done in the summer,
and requests her to commence her work.

The truth must be told. Duffy was an idle slut. She could neither knit
nor spin. Well, here she was left along, and, of course, expected to
produce a good specimen of her work.

The garret was piled from the floor to the key-beams with fleeces of
wool. Duffy looked despairingly at them, and then sat herself down on the
"turn" -- the spinning wheel -- and cried out, "Curse the spinning and
knitting! The devil may spin and knit for the squire for what I care."

Scarcely had Duffy spoken these words than she heard a rustling noise
behind some wool-packs, and forth walked a queer-looking little man, with
a remarkable pair of eyes, which seemed to send out flashes of light.
There was something uncommonly knowing in the twist of his mouth, and his
curved nose had an air of curious intelligence. He was dressed in black,
and moved towards Duffy with a jaunty air, knocking something against the
floor at every step he took.

"Duffy dear," said this little gentleman, "I'll do all the spinning and
knitting for thee."

"Thank 'e," says Duffy, quite astonished.

"Duffy dear, a lady shall you be."

"Thank 'e, your honor," smiled Duffy.

"But, Duffy dear, remember," coaxingly said the queer little man,
"remember, that for all this, at the end of three years, you must go with
me, unless you can find out my name."

Duffy was not the least bit frightened, nor did she hesitate long, but
presently struck a bargain with her kind but unknown friend, who told her
she had only to wish, and her every wish should be fulfilled. And as for
the spinning and knitting, she would find all she required under the black
ram's fleece.

He then departed. How, Duffy could not tell, but in a moment the queer
little gentleman was gone.

Duffy sung in idleness, and slept until it was time for her to make her
appearance. So she wished for some yarns, and looking under the black
fleece she found them.

Those were shown by the housekeeper to the squire, and both declared
they had never seen such beautiful yarns.

The next day Duffy was to knit this yarn into stockings. Duffy idled,
as only professed idlers can idle. But in due time, as if she had been
excessively industrious, she produced a pair of stockings for the old
squire.

If the yarn was beautiful, the stocking were beyond all praise. They
were as fine as silk, and as strong as leather.

Squire Lovel soon gave them a trial; and when he came home at night
after hunting, he declared he would never wear any other than Duffy's
stocking. He had wandered all day through brake and briar, furze and
brambles. There was not a scratch on his legs, and he was as dry as a
bone. There was no end to his praise of Duffy's stockings.

Duffy had a rare time of it now. She could do what she pleased and rove
where she willed.

She was dancing on the mill-bed half the day with all the gossiping
women who brought their grist to be ground. In those "good old times" the
ladies of the parish would take their corn to mill, and serge the flour
themselves. When a few of them met together, they would either tell
stories or dance whilst the corn was grinding. Sometimes the dance would
be on the mill-bed, sometimes out on the green. On some occasions the
miller's fiddle would be in request, at others the "crowd" [a sieve
covered with sheepskin] was made to do the duty of a tambourine. So Duffy
was always finding excuses to go to mill, and many "a round" would she
dance with the best people in the parish.

Old Bet, the miller's wife, was a witch, and she found out who did
Duffy's work for her. Duffy and old Bet were always the best of friends,
and she never told anyone about Duffy's knitting friend, nor did she ever
say a word about the stockings being unfinished. There was always a stitch
down.

On Sundays the people went to Burian Church from all parts to look at
the squire's stockings. And the old squire would stop at the cross, proud
enough to show them. He could hunt

Through brambles and furze in all sorts of weather;
His old shanks were as sound as if bound up in leather.

Duffy was now sought after by all the young men of the country; and at
last the squire, fearing to lose a pretty girl, and one who was so useful
to him, married her himself, and she became, according to the fashion of
the time and place, Lady Lovel. But she was commonly known by her
neighbors as the Duffy Lady.

Lady Lovel kept the devil hard at work. Stockings, all sorts of fine
underclothing, bedding, and much ornamental work, the like of which was
never seen, was produced at command and passed off as her own.

Duffy passed a merry time of it, but somehow or other she was never
happy when she was compelled to play the lady. She passed much more of her
time with the old crone at the mill than in the drawing room at Trove. The
squire sported and drank, and cared little about Duffy, so long as she
provided him with knitted garments.

The three years were nearly at an end. Duffy had tried every plan to
find out the devil's name, but had failed in all.

She began to fear that she should have to go off with her queer friend,
and Duffy became melancholy. Old Bet endeavored to rouse her, persuading
her that she could, from her long experience and many dealings with the
imps of darkness, at the last moment put her in the way of escaping her
doom. Duffy went day after day to her garret, and there each day was the
devil gibing and jeering till she was almost mad.

There was but another day. Bet was seriously consulted now, and -- as
good as her word -- she promised to use her power. Duffy Lady was to bring
down to the mill that very evening a jack [leather jug] of the strongest
beer she had in the cellar. She was not to go to bed until the squire
returned from hunting, no matter how late, and she was to make no remark
in reply to anything the squire might tell her.

The jack of beer was duly carried to the mill, and Duffy returned home
very melancholy to wait up for the squire.

No sooner had Lady Lovel left the mill than old Bet came out with the
"crowd" over her shoulders, and the blackjack [tar-coated leather jug] in
her hand. She shut the door, and turned the water off the mill-wheel,
threw her red cloak about her, and away.

She was seen by her neighbors going towards Boleit. A man saw the old
woman trudging past the Pipers, and through the Dawnse Main into the
downs, but there he lost sight of her, and no one could tell where old Bet
was gone to at that time of night.

Duffy waited long and anxiously. By and by the dogs came home alone.
They were covered with foam, their tongues were hanging out of their
mouths, and all the servants said they must have met the devil's hounds
without heads.

Duffy was seriously alarmed. Midnight came but no squire. At last he
arrived, but like a crazy, crack-brained man, he kept singing:

Here's to the devil,
With his wooden pick and shovel.

He was neither drunk nor frightened, but wild with some strange
excitement. After a long time Squire Lovel sat down, and began, "My dear
Duffy, you haven't smiled this long time. But now I'll tell 'e something
that would make ye laugh if ye're dying. If you'd seen what I've seen
tonight, ha, ha, ha!

Here's to the devil,
With his wooden pick and shovel."

True to her orders, Duffy said not a word, but allowed the squire to
ramble on as he pleased. At length he told her the following story of his
adventures, with interruptions which have not been retained, and with
numerous coarse expressions which are best forgotten:

The squire's story of the meeting of the witches in the Fugoe Hole:

Duffy dear, I left home at break of day this morning. I hunted
all the moors from Trove to Trevider, and never started a hare all the
livelong day. I determined to hunt all night, but that I'd have a brace to
bring home.

So, at nightfall I went down Lemorna Bottoms, then up Brene
Downses, and as we passed the Dawnse Main up started a hare, as fine a
hare as ever was seen. She passed the Pipers, down through the Reens, in
the mouth of the dogs half the time, yet they couldn't catch her at all.
As fine a chase as ever was seen, until she took into the Fugoe Hole. In
went the dogs after her, and I followed, the owls and bats flying round my
head. On we went, through water and mud, a mile or more, I'm quite
certain. I didn't know the place was so long before. At last we came to a
broad pool of water, when the dogs lost the scent and ran back past me
howling and jowling, terrified almost to death!

A little farther on I turned round a corner, and saw a
glimmering fire on the other side the water, and there were St. Leven
witches in scores. Some were riding on ragwort, some on brooms, some were
floating on their three-legged stools, and some, who had been milking the
little good cows in Wales, had come back astride of the largest leeks they
could find. Amongst the rest there was our Bet of the mill, with her
"crowd" in her hand, and my own blackjack slung across her
shoulders.

In a short time the witches gathered round the fire, and
blowed it up, after a strange fashion, till it burned up into a brilliant
blue flame. Then I saw amongst the rest a queer little man in black, with
a long forked tail, which he held high in the air, and twirled around. Bet
struck her "crowd" as soon as he appeared, and beat up the
tune:

Here's to the devil,
With his wooden pick and shovel,
Digging tin by the bushel,
With his tail cock'd up!

Then the queer little devil and all danced like the wind, and
went faster and faster, making such a clatter, "as if they had on each
foot a pewter platter."

Every time the man in black came round by old Bet, he took a
good pull from my own blackjack, till at last, as if he had been drinking
my best beer, he seemed to have lost his head, when he jumped up and down,
turned round and round, and roaring with laughter, sung:

When the squire sung those lines, he stopped suddenly, thinking that
Duffy was going to die. She turned pale, and red, and pale again. However,
Duffy said nothing, and the squire proceeded:

After the dance, all the witches made a ring around the fire,
and again blew it up, until the blue flames reached the top of the Zawn [a
cavernous gorge]. Then the devil danced through and through the fire, and
springing ever and anon amongst the witches, kicked them soundly. At last
-- I was shaking with laughter at the fun -- I shouted, "Go it, Old Nick!"
and lo, the lights went out, and I had to fly with all my speed, for every
one of the witches were after me. I scampered home somehow, and here I am.
Why don't you laugh, Duffy?

Duffy did laugh, and laugh right heartily now, and when tired of their
fun, the squire and the lady went to bed.

The three years were up within an hour. Duffy had willed for an
abundant supply of knitted things, and filled every chest in the house.
She was in the best chamber trying to cram some more stockings into a big
chest, when the queer little man in black appeared before her.

"Well, Duffy, my dear," said he, "I have been true to my word and
served you truly for three years as we agreed, so now I hope you will go
with me, and make no objection." He bowed very obsequiously, almost to the
ground, and regarded Duffy Lady with a very offensive leer.

"It is not so hot as some people say, Duffy," was his reply. "But come
along. I've kept my word, and of course a lady of your standing will keep
your word also. Can you tell me my name?"

Duffy curtsied, and smilingly said, "You have behaved like a true
gentleman, yet I wouldn't like to go so far."

The devil frowned and approached as if he would lay forcible hands upon
her.

"Maybe your name is Lucifer?"

He stamped his foot and grinned horridly. "Lucifer! Lucifer! He's no
other than a servant to me in my own country." Suddenly calming again, he
said, quietly, "Lucifer! I would scarcely be seen speaking to him at
court. But come along. When I spin for ladies I expect honorable treatment
at their hands. You've two guesses more. But they're of little use. My
name is not generally known on earth."

"Perhaps," smiled Duffy again, "my lord's name is Beelzebub?"

How he grinned, and his sides shook with convulsive joy. "Beelzebub!"
says he. "I believe he's some sort of a cousin -- a Cornish cousin you
know."

Our demon was rampant with joy. He danced around Duffy with delight,
and was, seeing that she hesitated, about to seize her somewhat roughly.

"Stop! Stop!" shouts Duffy. "Perhaps you will be honest enough to admit
that your name is Terrytop."

The gentleman in black looked at Duffy, and she steadily looked him in
the face. "Terrytop! Deny it if you dare," says she.

"A gentleman never denies his name," replied Terrytop, drawing himself
up with much dignity. "I did not expect to be beaten by a young minx like
you, Duffy. But the pleasure of your company is merely postponed."

With this Terrytop departed in fire and smoke, and all the devil's
knitting suddenly turned to ashes.

Squire Lovel was out hunting, away far on the moors. The day was cold
and the winds piercing. Suddenly the stockings dropped from his legs and
the homespun from his back, so that he came home with nothing on but his
shirt and his shoes, almost dead with cold. All this was attributed by the
squire to the influence of old Bet, who, he thought, had punished him for
pursuing her with his dogs when she had assumed the form of a hare.

The story, as told by the drolls, now rambles on. Duffy cannot furnish
stockings. The squire is very wroth. There are many quarrels -- mutual
recriminations. Duffy's old sweetheart is called in to beat the squire,
and eventually peace is procured, by a stratagem of old Bet's, which would
rather shock the sense of propriety in these our days.

Source: Robert Hunt, Popular Romances of the West of England; or,
The Drolls, Traditions, and Superstitions of Old Cornwall (London:
John Camden Hotten, 1871), pp. 239-247.

A footnote by Hunt concerning the Fugoe Hole: There is a tradition,
firmly believed on the lower side of the Burian, that the Fugoe Hole
extends from the cliffs underground so far that the end of it is under the
parlor of the Tremewen's house in Trove, which is the only remaining
portion of the old mansion of the Lovels. Here the witches were in the
habit of meeting the devil, and holding their Sabbath. Often his dark
highness has been heard piping while the witches danced to his music. A
pool of water some distance from the entrance prevents any adventurer from
exploring the "Hole" to its termination. Hares often take refuge in the
Fugoe Hole, from which they have never been known to return.

Scotland

I see that you are fond of talks about fairies, children; and a story
about a fairy and the goodwife of Kittlerumpit has just come into my mind;
but I can't very well tell you now whereabouts Kittlerumpit lies. I think
it is somewhere in the Debatable Ground. Anyway, I shall not pretend to
know more than I do, like everybody nowadays. I wish they would remember
the ballad we used to sing long ago:

But howsoever about Kittlerumpit. The goodman was a rambling sort of
body; and he went to a fair one day, and not only never came home again,
but nevermore was heard of. Some said he 'listed, and others that the
tiresome press-gang snatched him up, though he was furnished with a wife
and a child to boot. Alas! that wretched press-gang! They went about the
country like roaring lions, seeking whom they might devour. Well do I
remember how my eldest brother Sandy was all but smothered in the
meal-chest, hiding from those rascals. After they were gone, we pulled him
out from among the meal, puffing and crying, and as white as any corpse.
My mother had to pick the meal out of his mouth with the shank of a horn
spoon.

Ah well, when the goodman of Kittlerumpit was gone, the goodwife was
left with small means. Little resources had she, and a baby boy at her
breast. All said they were sorry for her; but nobody helped her -- which
is a common case, sirs. Howsoever, the goodwife had a sow, and that was
her only consolation; for the sow was soon to farrow, and she hoped for a
good litter.

But we all know hope is fallacious. One day the woman goes to the sty
to fill the sow's trough; and what does she find but the sow lying on her
back, grunting and groaning, and ready to give up the ghost.

I trow [trust, believe] this was a new pang to the goodwife's heart; so
she sat down on the knocking stone [a stone with a hollow in it for
pounding grain, so as to separate the husks from the kernels], with her
bairn [child] on her knee, and cried sorer than ever she did for the loss
of her own goodman.

Now I premise that the cottage of Kittlerumpit was built on a brae
[hillside], with a large fir wood behind it, of which you may hear more
ere we go far on. So the goodwife, when she was wiping her eyes, chances
to look down the brae; and what does she see but an old woman almost like
a lady, coming slowly up the road. She was dressed in green, all but a
short white apron and a black velvet hood, and a steeple-crowned beaver
hat on her head. She had a long walking staff, as long as herself, in her
hand -- the sort of staff that old men and old women helped themselves
with long ago. I see no such staffs now, sirs.

Ah well, when the goodwife saw the green gentlewoman near her, she rose
and made a curtsy; and "Madam," quoth she, weeping, "I am one of the most
misfortunate women alive."

"I don't wish to hear pipers' news and fiddlers' tales, goodwife,"
quoth the green woman. "I know you have lost your goodman -- we had worse
losses at the Sheriff Muir [a common saying, in response to a complaint
about a trifle]; and I know that your sow is unco [strangely, extremely]
sick. Now what will you give me if I cure her?"

"Let us wet thumbs on that bargain," quoth the green woman; so thumbs
were wetted, I warrant you; and into the sty madam marches.

She looks at the sow with a long stare, and then began to mutter to
herself what the goodwife couldn't well understand; but she said it
sounded like

Pitter patter,
Holy water.

Then she took out of her pocket a wee bottle, with something like oil
in it; and she rubs the sow with it above the snout, behind the ears, and
on the tip of the tail. "Get up, beast," quoth the green woman. No sooner
said than done. Up jumps the sow with a grunt, and away to her trough for
her breakfast.

The goodwife of Kittlerumpit was a joyful goodwife now, and would have
kissed the very hem of the green woman's gown-tail, but she wouldn't let
her.

"I am not so fond of ceremonies," quoth she; "but now that I have
righted your sick beast, let us end our settled bargain. You will not find
me an unreasonable, greedy body. I like ever to do a good turn for a small
reward. All I ask, and will have, is that baby boy in your bosom."

The goodwife of Kittlerumpit, who now knew her customer, gave a shrill
cry like a stuck swine. The green woman was a fairy, no doubt; so she
prays, and cries, and begs, and scolds; but all wouldn't do.

"You may spare your din," quoth the fairy, "screaming as if I was as
deaf as a doornail. But this I'll let you know: I cannot, by the law we
live under, take your bairn till the third day; and not then, if you can
tell me my right name."

So madam goes away round the pigsty end; and the goodwife falls down in
a swoon behind the knocking stone.

Ah well, the goodwife of Kittlerumpit could not sleep any that night
for crying, and all the next day the same, cuddling her bairn till she
nearly squeezed its breath out. But the second day she thinks of taking a
walk in the wood I told you of. And so with the bairn in her arms, she
sets out, and goes far in among the trees, where was an old quarry hole,
grown over with grass, and a bonny spring well in the middle of it. Before
she came very near, she hears the whirring of a flax wheel, and a voice
singing a song; so the woman creeps quietly among the bushes, and peeps
over the brow of the quarry; and what does she see but the green fairy
tearing away at her wheel, and singing like any precentor:

"Ha, ha!" thinks the woman, "I've got the mason's word at last. The
devil give them joy that told it!"

So she went home far lighter than she came out, as you may well guess
-- laughing like a madcap with the thought of cheating the old green
fairy.

Ah well, you must know that this goodwife was a jocose woman, and ever
merry when her heart was not very sorely overladen. So she thinks to have
some sport with the fairy; and at the appointed time she puts the bairn
behind the knocking stone, and sits on the stone herself. Then she pulls
her cap over her left ear and twists her mouth on the other side, as if
she were weeping; and an ugly face she made, you may be sure. She hadn't
long to wait, for up the brae climbs the green fairy, neither lame nor
lazy; and long ere she got near the knocking stone she screams out,
"Goodwife of Kittlerumpit, you know well what I come for. Stand and
deliver!"

The woman pretends to cry harder than before, and wrings her hands, and
falls on her knees with "Och, sweet madam mistress, spare my only bairn,
and take the wretched sow!"

"The devil take the sow, for my part," quoth the fairy. "I come not
here for swine's flesh. Don't be contramawcious, huzzy, but give me the
child instantly!"

"The devil is in the daft jade," quoth the fairy, looking like the far
end of a fiddle. "I'll bet she is clean demented. Who in all the earthly
world, with half an eye in his head, would ever meddle with the likes of
thee?"

I trow this set up the woman of Kittlerumpit's bristle, for though she
had two blear eyes and a long red nose besides, she thought herself as
bonny as the best of them. So she springs off her knees, sets the top of
her cap straight, and with her two hands folded before her, she makes a
curtsy down to the ground, and, "In troth, fair madam," quoth she, "I
might have had the wit to know that the likes of me is not fit to tie the
worst shoestrings of the high and mighty princess, Whuppity
Stoorie."

If a flash of gunpowder had come out of the ground it couldn't have
made the fairy leap higher than she did. Then down she came again plump on
her shoe-heels; and whirling round, she ran down the brae, screeching for
rage, like an owl chased by the witches.

The goodwife of Kittlerumpit laughed till she was like to split; then
she takes up her bairn, and goes into her house, singing to it all the
way:

Rhys's source: Robert Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland
(Edinburgh, 1858), pp. 221-115. Rhys normalizes the Scottish dialect, with
the following comment: "The Scotch is so broad, that I think it advisable,
at the risk of some havoc to the local coloring, to southronize it
somewhat."

Orkney Islands

There was once a king and queen in Rousay who had three daughters. The
king died, and the queen was living in a small house with her daughters.
They kept a cow and a kale yard. They found their cabbage was all being
taken away.

The eldest daughter said to the queen, she would take a blanket about
her and would sit and watch what was going away with the kale. So when the
night came, she went out to watch. In a short time a very big giant came
into the yard. He began to cut the kale and throw it in a big cubby [straw
basket]. So he cut till he had it well filled.

The princess was always asking why he was taking her mother's kale. He
was saying to her, if she was not quiet he would take her too.

As soon as he had filled his cubby, he took her by a leg and an arm and
threw her on the top of his cubby of kale, and away home he went with her.

When he got home he told her what work she had to do. She had to milk
the cow and put her up to the hills called Bloodfield, and then she had to
take wool, and wash and tease it, and comb and card, and spin and make
claith [cloth].

When the giant went out she milked the cow and put her to the hills.
Then she put on the pot and made porridge to herself. As she was supping
it, a great many peerie [little] yellow-headed folk came running, calling
out to give them some. She said,

Little for one, and less for two,
And never a grain have I for you.

When she came to work the wool , none of that work could she do at all.

The giant came home at night and found she had not done her work. He
took her and began at her head, and peeled the skin off all the way down
her back and over her feet. Then he threw her on the couples [rafters]
among the hens.

The same adventure befell the second girl. If her sister could do
little with the wool, she could do less.

When the giant came home he found her work not done. He began at the
crown of her head and peeled a strip of skin all down her back and over
her feet, and threw her on the couples beside her sister. They lay there
and could not speak nor come down.

The next night the youngest princess said she would take a blanket
about her and go to watch what had gone away with her sisters. Ere long,
in came a giant with a big cubby, and began to cut the kale.

She was asking why he was taking her mother's kale. He was saying, if
she was not quiet he would take her too.

He took her by a leg and an arm and threw her on the top of his cubby
and carried her away.

Next morning he gave her the same work as he had given her sisters.

When he was gone out, she milked the cow and put her to the high hills.
Then she put on the pot and made porridge to herself. When the peerie
yellow-headed folk came asking for some, she told them to get something to
sup with. Some got heather cows [brooms made from twigs of heather] and
some got broken dishes. Some got one thing, and some another, and they all
got some of her porridge.

After they were all gone, a peerie yellow-headed boy came in and asked
her if she had any work to do; he could do any work with wool. She said
she had plenty, but would never be able to pay him for it.

He said all he was asking for it was to tell him his name. She thought
that would be easy to do, and gave him the wool.

When it was getting dark, an old woman came in and asked her for
lodging.

The princess said she could not give her that, but asked her if she had
any news. But the old woman had none, and went away to lie out.

There is a high knowe [knoll] near the place, and the old woman sat
under it for shelter. She found it very warm. She was always climbing up,
and when she came to the top, she heard someone inside saying,

There was a crack in the knowe, and light coming out. She looked in and
saw a great many peerie folk working, and a peerie yellow-headed boy
running around them, calling out that.

The old woman thought she would get lodging if she went to give this
news, so she came back and told the princess the whole of it.

The princess went on saying, "Peerie Fool, Peerie Fool," till the
yellow-headed boy came with all the wool made into claith.

He asked what was his name, and she guessed names, and he jumped about
and said, "No."

At last she said, "Peerie Fool is your name." He threw down the wool
and ran off very angry.

As the giant was coming home he met a great many peerie yellow-headed
folk, some with their eyes hanging on their breasts. He asked them what
was the matter.

They told him it was working so hard, pulling wool so fine.

He said he had a good wife at home, and if she was safe, never would he
allow her to do any work again.

When he came home she was all safe, and had a great many webs lying all
ready, and he was very kind to her.

Next day when he went out, she found her sisters and took them down
from the couples. She put the skin on their backs again, and she put her
eldest sister in a cazy [straw basket], and put all the fine things she
could find with her, and grass on the top.

When the giant came home, she asked him to take the cazy to her mother
with some food for her cow. He was so pleased with her, he would do
anything for her, and took it away.

Next day she did the same with her other sister. She told him she would
have the last of the food she had to send her mother for the cow ready
next night. She told him she was going a bit from home, and would leave it
ready for him. She got into the cazy with all the fine things she could
find, and covered herself with grass. He took the cazy and carried it the
queen's house.

She and her daughters had a big boiler of boiling water ready. They
couped [overturned, emptied] it about him when he was under the window,
and that was the end of the giant.

Wales

Long ago there was in service at a Monmouthshire farm a young woman who
was merry and strong. Who she was or whence she came nobody knew, but many
believed that she belonged to the old breed of Bendith y Mamau.

Some time after she had come to the farm, the rumor spread that the
house was sorely troubled by a spirit. But the girl and the elf understood
one another well, and they became the best of friends. So the elf proved
very useful to the maid, for he did everything for her -- washing,
ironing, spinning, and twisting wool. In fact, they say that he was
remarkably handy at the spinning wheel. Moreover, he expected only a
bowlful of sweet milk and wheat bread, or some flummery, for his work. So
she took care to place the bowl with his food at the bottom of the stairs
every night as she went to bed.

It ought to have been mentioned that she was never allowed to catch a
sight of him, for he always did his work in the dark. Nor did anybody know
when he ate his food. She used to leave the bowl there at night, and it
would be empty by the time when she got up in the morning, the bwca
having cleared it.

But one night, by way of cursedness, what did she do but fill the bowl
with some stale urine which they used in dyeing wool and other things
about the house. But heavens! it would have been better for her not to
have done it, for when she got up next morning what should he do but
suddenly spring from some corner and seized her by the neck! He began to
beat her and kick her from one end of the house to the other, while he
shouted at the top of his voice at every kick:

Y faidan din dwmp--
Yn rhoi bara haið a thrwnc
I'r bwca!

The idea that the thick-buttocked lass
Should give barley bread and p--
To the bogie!

Meanwhile she screamed for help, but none came for some time. When,
however, he heard the servant men getting up, he took to his heels as hard
as he could; and nothing was heard of him for some time.

But at the end of two years he was found to be at another farm in the
neighborhood, called Hafod yr Ynys, where he at once became great friends
with the servant girl, for she fed him like a young chicken by giving him
a little bread and milk all the time.

So he worked willingly and well for her in return for his favorite
food. More especially, he used to spin and wind the yarn for her; but she
wished him in time to show his face, or to tell her his name. He would by
no means do either. One evening, however, when all the men were out, and
when he was spinning hard at the wheel, she deceived him by telling him
that she was also going out. He believed her; and when he heard the door
shutting, he began to sing as he plied the wheel:

Hi warða'n iawn pe gypa hi,
Taw Gwarwyn-a-throt yw'm enw i.

How she would laugh, did she know
that Gwarwyn-a-throt is my name!

"Ha! ha!" said the maid at the bottom of the stairs. "I know thy name
now."

"What is it, then?" he asked.

She replied, "Gwarwyn-a-throt"; and as soon as she uttered the words he
left the wheel where it was, and off he went.

Wales

In the northwest corner of the parish of Beddgelert there is a place
which used to be called by the old inhabitants the Land of the
Fairies, and it reaches from Cwm Hafod Ruffydd along the slope of the
mountain of Drws y Coed as far as Llyn y Dywarchen. The old people of
former times used to find much pleasure and amusement in this district in
listening every moonlight night to the charming music of the fair family,
and in looking at their dancing and their mirthful sports.

One on a time, a long while ago, there lived at upper Drws y Coed a
youth, who was joyous and active, brave and determined of heart. This
young man amused himself every night by looking on and listening to them.
One night they had come to a field near the house, near the shore of Llyn
y Dywarchen, to pass a merry night. He went, as usual, to look at them,
when his glances at once fell on one of the ladies, who possessed such
beauty as he had never seen in a human being. Her appearance was like
that of alabaster; her voice was as agreeable as the nightingale's, and as
unruffled as the zephyr in a flower garden at the noon of a long summer's
day; and her gait was pretty and aristocratic; her feet moved in the dance
as lightly on the grass as the rays of the sun had a few hours before on
the lake hard by.

He fell in love with her over head and ears, and in the strength of
that passion -- for what is stronger than love! -- he rushed, when the
bustle was at its height, into the midst of the fair crowd, and snatched
the graceful damsel in his arms, and ran instantly with her to the
house.

When the fair family saw the violence used by a mortal, they broke up
the dance and ran after her toward the house; but, when they arrived, the
door had been bolted with iron, wherefore they could not get near her or
touch her in any way; and the damsel had been placed securely in a
chamber.

The youth, having her now under his roof, as is the saying, endeavored,
with all his talent, to win her affection and to induce her to wed. But
at first she would on no account hear of it. On seeing his persistence,
however, and on finding that he would not let her go to return to her
people, she consented to be his servant if he could find out her name; but
she would not be married to him.

As he thought that was not impossible, he half agreed to the condition;
but, after bothering his head with all the names known in that
neighborhood, he found himself no nearer his point, though he was not
willing to give up the search hurriedly.

One night, as he was going home from Carnarvon market, he saw a number
of the fair folks in a turbary not far from his path. They seemed to him
to be engaged in an important deliberation, and it struck him that they
were planning how to recover their abducted sister. He thought, moreover,
that if he could secretly get within hearing, he might possibly find her
name out. On looking carefully around, he saw that a ditch ran through
the turbary and passed near the spot where they stood. So he made his way
round to the ditch, and crept, on all fours, along it until he was within
hearing of the family.

After listening a little, he found that their deliberation was as to
the fate of the lady he had carried away, and he heard one of them crying,
piteously, "O Penelop, O Penelop, my sister, why didst thou run away with
a mortal!"

"Penelop," said the young man to himself, "that must be the name of my
beloved; that is enough."

At once he began to creep back quietly, and he returned home safely
without having been seen by the fairies. When he got into the house, he
called out to the girl, saying, "Penelop, my beloved one, come here!" and
she came forward and asked, in astonishment, "O mortal, who has betrayed
my name to thee?"

But she grew contented with her fate, and took to her work in earnest.
Everything in the house and on the farm prospered under her charge. There
was no better or cleanlier housewife in the neighborhood around, or one
that was more provident than she.

The young man, however, was not satisfied that she should be a servant
to him, and, after he had long and persistently sought it, she consented
to be married, on the one condition, that, if ever he should touch her
with iron, she would be free to leave him and return to her family.

He agreed to that condition, since he believed that such a thing would
never happen at his hands.

So they were marred, and lived several years happily and comfortably
together. Two children where born to them, a boy and a girl, the picture
of their mother and the idols of their father. But one morning, when the
husband wanted to go to the fair at Carnarvon, he went out to catch a
filly that was grazing in the field by the house; but for the life of him
he could not catch her, and he called to his wife to come to assist
him.

She came without delay, and they managed to drive the filly to a secure
corner, as they thought; but, as the man approached to catch her, she
rushed past him. In his excitement, he threw the bridle after her; but
who should be running in the direction of it, but his wife!

The iron bit struck her on the cheek, and she vanished out of sight on
the spot. Her husband never saw her any more; but one cold frosty night,
a long time after this event, he was awakened from his sleep by somebody
rubbing the glass of his window, and, after he had given a response, he
recognized the gentle and tender voice of his wife saying to him:

Lest my son should find it cold,
Place on him his father's coat;
Lest the fair one find it cold,
Place on her my petticoat.

It is said that the descendants of this family still continue in these
neighborhoods, and that they are easy to be recognized by their light and
fair complexion.

Wales

A farmer's wife who lived at the Nant, in the parish of
Llaniestin, was frequently visited by a fairy who used to borrow
paddett a gradett [a round flat iron and a pan used for
baking] from her. These she used to get, and she returned them
with a loaf borne on her head in acknowledgement. But one day
she came to ask for the loan of her troett bach, or wheel
for spinning flax. When handing her this, the farmer's wife wished
to know her name, as she came so often, but she refused to tell
her. However, she was watched at her spinning, and overheard
singing to the whir of the wheel:

Ireland

In the north of Ireland there are spinning meetings of unmarried
females frequently held at the houses of farmers, called kemps.
Every young woman who has got the reputation of being a quick and expert
spinner attends where the kemp is to be held, at an hour usually before
daylight, and on these occasions she is accompanied by her sweetheart or
some male relative, who carries her wheel, and conducts her safely across
the fields or along the road, as the case may be.

A kemp is, indeed, an animated and joyous scene, and one, besides which
is calculated to promote industry and decent pride. Scarcely anything can
be more cheering and agreeable than to hear at a distance, breaking the
silence of morning, the light-hearted voices of many girls either in mirth
or song, the humming sound of the busy wheels -- jarred upon a little, it
is true, by the stridulous noise and checkings of the reels, and the
voices of the reelers, as they call aloud the checks, together with the
name of the girl and the quantity she has spun up to that period; for the
contest is generally commenced two or three hours before daybreak. This
mirthful spirit is also sustained by the prospect of a dance -- with
which, by the way, every kemp closes; and when the fair victor is
declared, she is to be looked upon as the queen of the meeting, and
treated with the necessary respect.

But to our tale. Everyone knew Shaun Buie M'Gaveran to be the cleanest,
best-conducted boy, and the most industrious too, in the whole parish of
Faugh-a-ballagh. Hard was it to find a young fellow who could handle a
flail, spade, or reaping-hook in better style, or who could go through his
day's work in a more creditable or workmanlike manner. In addition to
this, he was a fine, well-built, handsome young man as you could meet in a
fair; and so, sign was on it, maybe the pretty girls weren't likely to
pull each other's caps about him Shaun, however, was as prudent as he was
good looking; and although he wanted a wife, yet the sorrow one of him but
preferred taking a well-handed, smart girl, who was known to be well
behaved and industrious, like himself. Here, however, was where the puzzle
lay on him; for instead of one girl of that kind, there were in the
neighborhood no less than a dozen of them -- all equally fit and willing
to become his wife, and all equally good looking.

There were two, however, whom he thought a trifle above the rest; but
so nicely balanced were Biddy Corrigan and Sally Gorman, that for the life
of him he could not make up his mind to decide between them. Each of them
had won her kemp; and it was currently said by them who ought to know,
that neither of them could overmatch the other. No two girls in the parish
were better respected, or deserved to be so; and the consequence was, they
had everyone's good word and good wish.

Now it so happened that Shaun had been pulling a cord with each; and as
he knew not how to decide between, he thought he would allow them to do
that themselves if they could. He accordingly gave out to the neighbors
that he would hold a kemp on that day week, and he told Biddy and Sally
especially that he had made up his mind to marry whichever of them won the
kemp, for he knew right well, as did all the parish, that on of them must.
The girls agreed to this very good-humoredly, Biddy telling Sally that she
(Sally) would surely win it; and Sally not to be outdone in civility,
telling the same thing to her.

Well, the week was nearly past, there being but two days till that of
the kemp, when, about three o'clock, there walks into the house of old
Paddy Corrigan a little woman dressed in high-heeled shoes and a short red
cloak. There was no one in the house but Biddy at the time, who rose up
and placed a chair near the fire, and asked the little red woman to sit
down and rest herself. She accordingly did so, and in a short time a
lively chat commenced between them.

"So," said the strange woman, "there's to be a great kemp in Shaun Buie
M'Gaveran's?"

"Indeed there is that, good woman," replied Biddy, smiling and blushing
to back of that again, because she knew her own fate depended on it.

"And," continued the little woman, "whoever wins the kemp wins a
husband?"

"Aye, so it seems."

"Well, whoever gets Shaun will be a happy woman, for he's the moral of
a good boy."

"That's nothing but the truth, anyhow," replied Biddy, sighing, for
fear, you may be sure, that she herself might lose him; and indeed a young
woman might sigh from many a worse reason. "But," said she, changing the
subject, "you appear to be tired, honest woman, an' I think you had better
eat a bit, an' take a good drink of buinnhe ramwher (thick milk) to
help you on you journey."

"Thank you kindly, a colleen," said the woman; "I'll take a bit, of you
plase, hopin', at the same time, that you won't be the poorer of it this
day twelve months."

"Sure," said the girl, "you know that what we give from kindness ever
an' always leaves a blessing behind it."

"Yes, acushla, when it is given from kindness."

She accordingly helped herself to the food that Biddy placed before
her, and appeared, after eating, to be very much refreshed.

"Now," said she, rising up, "you're a very good girl, an' if you are
able to find out my name before Tuesday, the kemp-day, I tell you that
you'll win it, and gain the husband."

"Why," said Biddy, "I never saw you before. I don't know who you are,
nor where you live; how then can I ever find out your name?"

"You never saw me before, sure enough," said the old woman, "an' I tell
you that you never will see me again but once; an' yet if you have not my
name for me at the close of the kemp, you'll lose all, an' that will leave
you a sore heart, for well I know you love Shaun Buie."

So saying, she went away, and left poor Biddy quite cast down at what
she had said, for, to tell the truth, she loved Shaun very much, and had
no hopes of being able to find out the name of the little woman, on which,
it appeared, so much to her depended.

It was very near the same hour of the same day that Sally Gorman was
sitting alone in her father's house, thinking of the kemp, when who should
walk in to her but our friend the little red woman.

"God save you, honest woman," said Sally, "this is a fine day that's in
it, the Lord be praised!"

"It is," said the woman, "as fine a day as one could wish for; indeed
it is."

"Have you no news on your travels?" asked Sally.

"The only news in the neighborhood," replied the other, "is this great
kemp that's to take place a Shaun Buie B'Gaveran's. They say you're either
to win him or lose him then," she added, looking closely at Sally as she
spoke.

"I'm not very much afraid of that," said Sally, with confidence; "but
even if I do lose him, I may get as good."

"It's not easy gettin' as good," rejoined the old woman, "an' you ought
to be very glad to win him, if you can."

"Let me alone for that," said Sally. "Biddy's a good girl, I allow; but
as for spinnin', she never saw the day she could leave me behind her.
Won't you sit an' rest you?" she added; "maybe you're tired."

"It's time for you to think of it," thought the woman, but she
spoke nothing; "but," she added to herself on reflection, "it's better
late than never -- I'll sit awhile, till I see a little closer what she's
made of."

She accordingly sat down and chatted upon several subjects such as
young women like to talk about, for about half an hour; after which she
arose, and taking her little staff in hand, she bade Sally good-bye, and
went her way.

After passing a little from the house she looked back, and could not
help speaking to herself as follows:

She's smooth and smart,
But she wants the heart;
She's tight and neat,
But she gave no meat.

Poor Biddy now made all possible inquiries about the old woman, but to
no purpose. Not a soul she spoke to about her had ever seen or heard of
such a woman. She felt very dispirited, and began to lose heart, for there
is no doubt that if she missed Shaun it would have cost her many a
sorrowful day. She knew she would never get his equal, or at least anyone
that she loved so well.

At last the kemp day came, and with it all the pretty girls of the
neighborhood to Shaun Buie's. Among the rest, the two that were to decide
their right to him were doubtless the handsomest pair by far, and everyone
admired them. To be sure, it was a blithe and merry place, and many a
light laugh and sweet song rang out from pretty lips that day. Biddy and
Sally, as everyone expected were far ahead of the rest, but so even in
their spinning that the reelers could not for the life of them declare
which was the better. It was neck-and-neck and head-and-head between the
pretty creatures, and all who were at the kemp felt themselves would up to
the highest pitch of interest and curiosity to know which of them would be
successful.

The day was now more than half gone, and no difference was between
them, when, to the surprise and sorrow of everyone present, Biddy
Corrigan's heck broke in two, and so to all appearance ended the
contest in favor of her rival; and what added to her mortification, she
was ignorant of the little red woman's name as ever. What was to be done?
All that could be done was done. Her brother, a boy of about fourteen
years of age, happened to be present when the accident took place, having
been sent by his father and mother to bring them word how the match went
on between the rival spinsters. Johnny Corrigan was accordingly dispatched
with all speed to Donnel M'Cusker's, the wheelwright, in order to get the
heck mended, that being Biddy's last but hopeless chance. Johnny's anxiety
that his sister should win was of course very great, and in order to lose
as little time as possible he struck across the country, passing through,
or rather close by, Kilrudden forth, a place celebrated as a resort of the
fairies. What was his astonishment, however, as he passed a white-thorn
tree, to hear a female voice singing, in accompaniment to the sound of a
spinning wheel, the following words:

There's a girl in this town doesn't know my name;
But my name's Even Trot -- Even Trot.

"There's a girl in this town," said the lad, "who's in great distress,
for she has broken her heck, and lost a husband. I'm now goin' to Donnel
M'Cusker's to get it mended."

"What's her name?" said the little red woman.
"Biddy Corrigan."

The little woman immediately whipped out the heck from her own wheel,
and giving it to the boy, desired him to take it to his sister, and never
mind Donnel M'Cusker.

"You have little time to lose," she added, "so go back and give her
this; but don't tell her how you got it, nor, above all things, that it
was Even Trot that gave it to you."

The lad returned, and after giving the heck to his sister, as a matter
of course told her that it was a little red woman called Even Trot that
sent it to her, a circumstance which made tears of delight start to
Biddy's eyes, for she know now that Even Trot was the name of the old
woman, and having know that she felt that something good would happen to
her. She now resumed her spinning, and never did human fingers let down
the thread so rapidly. The whole kemp were amazed at the quantity which
from time to time filled her pirn. The hearts of her friends began to
rise, and those of Sally's party to sink, as hour after hour she was fast
approaching her rival, who now spun if possible with double speed on
finding Biddy coming up with her.

At length they were again even, and just at that moment in came her
friend the little red woman, and asked aloud, "Is there anyone in this
kemp that knows my name?" This question she asked three times before Biddy
could pluck up courage to answer her. She at last said:

There's a girl in this town does know my name --
Your name is Even Trot -- Even Trot.

"Aye," said the old woman, "and so it is; and let that name be your
guide and your husband's through life. Go steadily along, but let your
step be even; stop little; keep always advancing; and you'll never have
cause to rue the day that you first saw Even Trot."

We need scarcely add that Biddy won the kemp and the husband, and that
she and Shaun lived long and happily together; and I have only now to
wish, kind reader, that you and I may live longer and more happily
still.

A Slav Folktale

Once upon a time there was a poor woman who had an only daughter, named
Helen, a
very lazy girl. One day when she had refused to do a single thing, her
mother
took her down to the banks of a stream and began to strike her fingers
with a
flat stone, just as you do in beating linen to wash it.

The girl cried a good deal. A prince, Lord of the Red Castle, happened at
that
moment to pass by, and inquired as to the cause of such treatment, for it
horrified him that a mother should so ill-use her child.

"Why should I not punish her?" answered the woman. "The idle girl can do
nothing but spin hemp into gold thread."

"Really?" cried he. "Does she really know how to spin gold thread out of
hemp?
If that be so, sell her to me."

"Willingly; how much will you give me for her?"

"Half a measure of gold."

"Take her," said the mother; and she gave him her daughter as soon as the
money
was paid.

The prince placed the girl behind him on the saddle, put spurs to his
horse, and
took her home.

On reaching the Red Castle, the prince led Helen into a room filled from
floor
to ceiling with hemp, and having supplied her with distaff and spinning
wheel,
said, "When you have spun all this hemp into gold thread I will make you
my
wife."

Then he went out, locking the door after him.

On finding herself a prisoner, the poor girl wept as if her heart would
break.
Suddenly she saw a very odd looking little man seated on the window sill.
He
wore a red cap, and his boots were made of some strange sort of material.

"Why do you weep so?" he asked.

"I cannot help it," she replied, "I am but a miserable slave. I have been
ordered to spin all this hemp into gold thread, but it is impossible, I
can
never do it, and I know not what will become of me."

I will do it for you in three days, on condition that at the end of that
time
you guess my right name, and tell me what the boots I am wearing now are
made
of."

Without for one moment reflecting as to whether she would be able to guess
aright she consented. The uncanny little man burst out laughing, and
taking her
distaff set to work at once.

All day as the distaff moved the hemp grew visibly less, while the skein
of gold
thread became larger and larger.

The little man spun all the time, and, without stopping an instant,
explained to
Helen how to make thread of pure gold. As night drew on he tied up the
skein,
saying to the girl, "Well, do you know my name yet? Can you tell me what
my
boots are made of?"

Helen replied that she could not, upon which he grinned and disappeared
through
the window. She then sat and looked at the sky, and thought, and thought,
and
thought, and lost herself in conjecturing as to what the little man's name
might
be, and in trying to guess what was the stuff his boots were made of.
Were they
of leather? or perhaps plaited rushes? or straw? or cast iron? No, they
did not
look like anything of that sort. And as to his name -- that was a still
more
difficult problem to solve.

"What shall I call him?" said she to herself -- "John? Or Henry? Who
knows?
perhaps it is Paul or Joseph."

These thoughts so filled her mind that she forgot to eat her dinner. Her
meditations were interrupted by cries and groans from outside, where she
saw an
old man with white hair sitting under the castle wall.

"Miserable old man that I am," cried he; "I die of hunger and thirst, but
no one
pities my sufferings."
Helen hastened to give him her dinner, and told him to come next day,
which he
promised to do.

After again thinking for some time what answers she should give the little
old
man, she fell asleep on the hemp.

The little old man did not fail to make his appearance the first thing
next
morning, and remained all day spinning the gold thread. The work
progressed
before their eyes, and it was only when evening came that he repeated his
questions. Not receiving a satisfactory answer, he vanished in a fit of
mocking
laughter. Helen sat down by the window to think; but think as she might,
no
answer to these puzzling questions occurred to her.

While thus wondering the hungry old man again came by, and she gave him
her
dinner. She was heart-sick and her eyes were full of tears, for she
thought she
would never guess the spinner's name, nor of what stuff his boots were
made,
unless perhaps God would help her.

"Why are you so sad?" asked the old man when he had eaten and drunk; "tell
me
the cause of you grief, dear lady."

For a long time she would not tell him, thinking it would be useless; but
at
last, yielding to his entreaties, she gave a full account of the
conditions
under which the gold thread was made, explaining that unless she could
answer
the little old man's questions satisfactorily she feared some great
misfortune
would befall her.

The old man listened attentively, then, nodding his head, he said: "In
coming
through the forest today I passed close to a large pile of burning wood,
round
which were placed nine iron pots. A little man in a red cap was running
round
and jumping over them, singing these words:

My sweet friend, fair Helen, at the Red Castle near,
Two days and two nights seeks my name to divine,
She'll never find out, so the third night 'tis clear
My sweet friend, fair Helen, can't fail to be mine.
Hurrah! for my name is Kinkach Martinko,
Hurrah! for my boots are of doggies' skin O!

"Now that is exactly what you want to know, my dear girl; so do not
forget, and
you are saved."

And with these words the old man vanished.

Helen was greatly astonished, but she took care to fix in her memory all
that
the good fellow had told her, and then went to sleep, feeling that she
could
face tomorrow without fear.

One the third day, very early in the morning, the little old man appeared
and
set busily to work, for he knew that all the hemp must be spun before
sunset,
and that then he should be able to claim his rights. When evening came
all the
hemp was gone, and the room shone with the brightness of the golden
thread.

As soon as his work was done, the queer little old man with the red cap
drew
himself up with a great deal of assurance, and with his hand in his
pockets
strutted up and down before Helen, ordering her to tell him his right name
and
to say of what stuff the boots were made; but he felt certain that she
would not
be able to answer aright.

"Your name is Kinkach Martinko, and your boots are made of dogskin," she
replied
without the slightest hesitation.

At these words he spun round on the floor like a bobbin, tore out his hair
and
beat his breast with rage, roaring so that the very walls trembled.

"It is lucky for you that you have guessed. If you had not, I should have
torn
you to pieces on this very spot:" so saying he rushed out of the window
like a
whirlwind.

Helen felt deeply grateful towards the old man who had told her the
answers, and
hoped to be able to thank him in person. But he never appeared again.

The Prince of the Red Castle was very pleased with her for having
accomplished
her task so punctually and perfectly, and he married her as he had
promised.

Helen was truly thankful to have escaped the dangers that had threatened
her,
and her happiness as a princess was greater than she had dared hope. She
had,
too, such a good stock of gold thread that she never had occasion to spin
any
more all her life long.

King Olaf and the
Giant. In this legend from Norway and Sweden, King Olaf gains control
over a sinister giant by discovering that his name was Wind and Weather.
In some variants of this legend the giant's (or troll's) name is Skaane,
Tvester, Bläster, or Slätt.

The
Werewolf of Vietlübbe (Germany). A farmer gains control over a
werewolf by calling out his human name (Irnst Jacobs) three times.

A Witch
as Werewolf (Germany). A man suspected that his wife had transformed
herself into a wolf. He called out "Marie, Marie, what are you doing
here?" and before his eyes she turned herself back into her human form.

The
Werewolf: Another Legend (Germany). A woman provided meat for every
meal by hunting as a werewolf. On one of her hunts she was attacked by
dogs, and her husband -- observing from a short distance away -- cried out
her name "Margaret!" With that the wolf disappeared, and the woman was
left standing naked in the field.

The Black
Dog (Shetland Islands). A witch transforms herself into a black dog in
order to do mischief. A neighbor recognizes her and calls out
her name "Minnie Merran," strikes her with a pair of tongs, and drives her
away.

The
Mårt. Superstitions from northern
Germany about the
supernatural beings that cause bad dreams. Note items 9 and 10, each of
which state that the demon must retreat if you call it by name.